Late Star Rising Part 1 : Birth
by Sapphira Antares
Summary: Nakago : man or monster? This is my apology for the powerful Seiryu Seishi and my tale of his redemption. Part One


**Disclaimer:** This story is an amateur work of fanfiction. The content of this story is the creation of the author, although based on the Anime "Fushigi Yuugi", and is not intended for profit. The author does not own "Fushigi Yuugi" and any of its characters depicted within. I took the liberty of creating a few characters of my own; but they are unnamed.

**Author's Note: ** Nakago : man or monster? This is my apology for the powerful Seiryu Seishi and my tale of his redemption. **Part One**

LATE STAR RISING : PART ONE 

**BIRTH**

An illicit gloom descended over the death-like stillness of the palace grounds. A horrid black cloud overshadowed the already pale luminescence of the moon's last quarter, revealing among the shadows an unclear image of a delicate figure that slid slowly past the guards who had failed to sense the rich, spicy scented trail it left behind. A soft rustle disturbed the grasses as a heavy, black garment brushed past.

Nakago's pace across the smooth, hard balcony floor was somber and sullen, heavy with each step as the moonlight trailed after him; his golden hair gleaming dully under its bleak light that made the folds of his garment appear in an odd assortment of black and pale purple. He turned slowly towards the great hall at the other end of his sight, slightly frowning as heavily decorated courtesans and their pomaded tresses, their thick lipstick-lips and powdered faces vanish into the Emperor's room from which flushed a rich, yellow light. They glided in with shrill giggles, shutting the door behind them.

His frown soon faded into an inscrutable indifference. He had no need of them. Long ago, he had decided that he was not of their breed nor a contemporary to squirm in such baseness and squalour. He had already confined himself to one woman; and one woman was all he needed. She could strengthen him up to the level of profound pleasure and satisfaction – heaven forbid; if such a thing was ever possible. But tonight, he was alone, just as he had been so for some weeks now. And, thinking to himself, wallowing in assumptions and other acts of weakness would not change the fact that he was alone; nor would it bring his woman to him.

A slight wind ruffled his golden hair. "His woman"? True, he had convinced himself over and over again that she was his woman, nothing else; nothing beyond that like pathetic emotions of love and affection that bring nothing but pain in waking. Pain had been a part of him all his life. Death followed it like a brother. So, why was he here then, thinking – meditating, pondering over _her_? Why should he care about her absence, why should he feel regret that he had woke up several mornings now without her sleeping at his side? Why should he think about Soi at all?

It had been sometime since Soi had taken leave for reasons he never bothered to ask. He felt that they were not important; never noticed that the only female Seiryu Seishi had avoided his eyes for sometime now. Nakago never considered that as a serious matter at all. Yet … sometimes he admitted to himself that he remembered missing the delicate beauty of her slender body with its soft curves; and her pallid white skin. He remembered that they brought him a strange memory of a beautiful naked girl that his mother exchanged at a trade fair for a little blue dragon of stone. Seiryu.

His eyes flickered as a sharp pain shot up from inside him. His senses stirred at the remembrance of his mother as they had always done. His wavering eyes that went slightly misty cleared away quickly with a blink.

His mother was gone. She was devoured by the violent past. Why had he thought of her again? In his dreams, he was always a child who shouted at the top of his lungs, shouting to call her back until his voice went hoarse and raw. Sometimes he woke up with tears in his eyes, tears he had always strove to hide from the one who lay beside him. Sometimes … sometimes; _she_ had eased that pain a little. But, why would he tell her that?

A strange music woke Nakago back from his thoughts. A soft sound of flute came through one of the windows. He scowled at it, silently cursing the young fool, Amiboshi who thought he could charm by a mere flute the disorder. Soi liked it, however. She always drew a deep, relaxed sigh as she heard it, pulling the drapes back from the window near the bed when they made love. Thinking about her again, without realizing it this time, Nakago stood serenaded by the soft tunes. A cool scent entered his nostrils, a scent that rose from the flowery bed directly under the balcony where he was standing.

"Damn good music," commented a guard. "His majesty must be having one hell of a time."

They laughed hoarsely as they walked off. Nakago stepped back, his disgust making way for nausea that even the fresh flowery scent could not drive away. In his haste to tear himself off the place, he noticed a black figure skirting hastily down past the flowerbeds; and no more. The mist came back in small streams of moisture that rustled the roofs of loose tiles. They rattled at the slightest gust. A fresh torrent of rain pelted down from the sky, light halos surrounded the shielded lamps placed all around the palace.

He heard the guards stirring at their posts with the rain's intrusion, he himself however feigning to allow it to disturb him awhile, letting the pearly, sparkling thin raindrops settle upon his head, but no more.

The flute stopped. Its sudden silence grabbed his attention more than the melody had done. He stepped back under the roof, continuing his midnight walk past the various rooms and quarters. There were soft, harsh and snoring breaths coming from them. None had the same intensity of passion as Soi, who had breathed against his chest so many times before. In his part, it was hard to deny that he had missed it. Yet … neither would he allow to openly concern himself with such things, especially at this moment, while destiny seemed to be all before him now; served in a platter in the form of a delicate young girl he had fished out of the streets earlier that day. Still in a delirious sleep she was. Nakago had avoided to disturb the frail little thing as yet. At present, he was not too concerned, but allowed himself to savour the pattering of rain and the white mist descending. Nothing more.

He had often thought about the upcoming invasion of Konan, not that he was interested in, or enjoyed it. Surely, the indifferent gods who had so heartlessly willed it to rain whether he liked it or not would still remain seated upon their cloudy thrones, regardless of humanity. Bitter times were ahead. Sometimes he regretted that he would have to be a part of them again, a part of wars and sputtering blood; to have to squirm in the mud again after a hard rainstorm. He stopped slightly before the Emperor's door, the clanking of the guard's salute echoing down the desolate halls. If he could, he would have surely stopped up his ears as he passed the Emperor's door. But he could not, because he has changed. The guards did not know that he passed it the way he always did when the Lord Emperor was involved in his many private sessions – as quickly as he could; while concealing it so well.

His mind trailed back to Soi again. He sometimes hated himself for thinking about her so often, for it might be an indication that he cared. That fact, he struggled to avoid. Soi was simply another mistress that he had picked off all the courtesans because of the mere fact that her talents could be used to his advantage; and that she was a fellow Seishi, nothing more. Why then, had he so often felt a sharp sting of rage at the mention of "_whore_" to associate with her name; often felt a burning desire to seize the sneering courtesans whom he had often heard speaking such things; to drive them down the hard floor of cold stone, or spit at their disgusting faces of rouge and paint and … no! They would only laugh at him from behind their cold, soulless eyes. What was his vengeance to them? Had _he_ too, not been like them – a sick little plaything of the great Emperor? He could not create order out of disorder … it would only laugh at him in the face. They actually enjoyed it, have they; the sluts. He was ashamed that he was once a part of them. The mere thought of it was spine-chilling.

Nakago breathed deeply, keeping his face inscrutable. The guards were watching.

One pale-faced guard looked at him sheepishly, sensing some disorder, but refrained to ask. The Shogun was always somber and aloof, unreadable, and coldly stern. The best he could expect was a bitter glare from those cold, hard eyes – nothing more.

They were disturbed suddenly by the patter of hurried feet. Nakago turned at his leisure to see a slave running towards him, while the guards shivered at the sight of his indifference, sensing deep within a deeper gloom. Nakago however contained all of whatever formed within his breast as he had always done, and gave the slave who fell to his knees a leisurely gaze.

"Forgive the disturbance, my lord," said the slave. "I assume the Emperor is occupied at the moment. Could I have your kind assistance?"

"What if you could? For what purpose?" asked Nakago. The indifference of his tone and the look upon his face sent silent shivers upon the spines of the mute standing guards.

"The girl …" the slave began.

Nakago waited no more, but swept away after giving the terrified slave a cold, hard look. The timid slave trotted after him as the guards looked on. The silent wind projected by the scraping of the Shogun's cloak against the damp but still air subsided as they went. The rain fell heavier outside, covering every perceptive thing in a sordid, dream-like gloom.

The Kutou Shogun now arrived at the door of the room where they had kept the young girl he had picked off the streets that afternoon. As he lay his hand upon the great door's cold surface, a low rumble was heard erupting off the pregnant sky far above. He gently pushed the door open, allowing the gold lamp-light to stream upon his face as he entered.

"Who are you?" he asked, glaring at the young maiden who attended the sleeping girl.

"I - I am a handmaiden, my Lord. The Emperor asked me to look to our new guest –" said the girl, who proceeded to tell him of the new girl's strange delirium. "She .. she thinks she's being .. _raped_, my lord. That's all she has been saying in her sleep. I am really worried. Should I call a physician to see if she is really -"

Nakago looked at her sharply. The sting of his glance was enough to silence her.

"Leave," he said. His tone was final. "Tell the guards I am not to be disturbed." There was nothing more to be said. The maid nodded silently, accepting her dismissal to hurry on outside. Nakago briskly waited for her to vanish, and the door clicked shut.

He turned to the bed. The new girl was steadily breathing, the warm flesh of her rose-tinted cheeks clearly flourishing and visible under the golden lamp-light. He drew back the lacy silk curtains near the bed and studied her.

Nakago remembered an earlier event of the day as his cold eyes speculated her features. He was coming back after a brief survey of the region with a few soldiers on horseback for the upcoming invasion of Konan. Hearing a girl's frail cry, he remembered breaking off from his followers. Now it had come to this. There were two molesters. He remembered a hot fury charging up his soul for a brief moment. They caught up to her, pushed her flat on the earth despite her blood-curdling screams for help, her fair legs kicking back wildly as her short skirt was ripped halfway and …

The vision was quickly replaced by a similar scene of an assaulted woman – another woman with fair, porcelain-white skin; long flowing golden hair …

Nakago blinked and abandoned that memory with a sharp chill that stirred his senses, fearing that he might remember more.

The girl was pretty. She had emerged from a place he knew nothing of. Her clothing was of a strange type that he was not even familiar with. Her blunt hair was sandy brown. She was a stranger as he, and perhaps that might fulfill his silent hope. Perhaps she could fulfill _his_ destiny, who knows? If not, he knew that there was only one other option for her - a young, welcome addition to the Kutou Emperor's harem. Nothing more.

Thunder rumbled again. He realized that his fists had clenched without him knowing it. The thundering noise slightly shook the palace before it fainted into the night's hollow darkness. The taper burning beside the bed flickered as it shook in an ecstatic dance. Two titles rang simultaneously inside Nakago's mind, choked by the thunder: _Seiryu no Miko_ and (he slightly flinched at the second one) _Concubine_. No, certainly not. He had the power to stop it. He was more powerful than Kutou's pathetic Emperor now.

"This damn rain will be the death of me," said a courtesan as she scuttled past the door. Nakago smirked slightly. What had _she_ known of _death_? Had she even tasted it, swam, and was baptized in it as he was? No. The whore indeed reeked of death, but she knew nothing. Nothing! Death had followed him all his life. It was a part of him now. He no longer feared it as much as he feared the pain of being alive. The dead need not fear death. Those who do fear it are only pathetic – half dead, half living, like that courtesan – reeking of death under the god Seiryu's torturous eyes.

Nakago placed his hand upon the girl's chin, still immersed in a passion of fury. Automatically, he drew back again, surprised at himself. His mind was playing tricks on him. He thought that he was back again, curled up in his warm bed with Soi at his side; her long fragrant hair brushing against his cheek as her soft flesh touched his. Side by side they lay – like fetuses, or twins fresh from the womb. Soi again. He was immediately shaken back into consciousness. The strange girl was before him again, Soi banished from perception. But still, he, for a moment, had the impression that _she_ was a part of him. Does this mean that he cared, after all? He could not banish that thought altogether now that he began to see strange young girls in _her_ image.

The girl began to mutter. Nakago's eyes slightly widened as she sobbed unaware, softly; pleading "them" to stop. "They" were all over her, upon her, tearing her open. He did not move, but listened as she, in her delirium, was whimpering clearly audible for all to hear if they would so much listen. "Miaka … Miaka, help, Miaka.." For several seconds, the name sounded upon Nakago's head like a pounding drum. His consciousness began to shift, once more …

The village was burning. The smell of death surrounded him. _"Ayuru!" _came a voice from his past. _"Ayuru! Run away! Get out of here! Run, Ayuru … run …"_ a small boy's voice filled the empty space. _Mother … mother…_ it was his own. He could smell the burning dead, and the dead leaves and trees, the charred huts. Dead, all dead! He continued to hear that voice that rose out of the strong grip of perdition, struggling to stand up and defy … _run, Ayuru! Run!_

Nakago awoke again with a startle, his eyes streaming. He blinked quickly.

That was what he had been doing. Running away from a pain, pushing it back in a desperate repression. As Nakago brushed away a thin film of blurry vision and moisture entrapped upon his eyelashes, he began to feel within himself a strange sensation. It seemed like a birth. Birth … yes. There was no doubt about it. It emerged out of the shadow of _death_ – his own. "Miaka…" sobbed the girl softly. To him, it sounded exactly like opportunity, like birth, like a new beginning of a thing. He felt a strange, blue gleam covering his person, emerging from within him, shining brighter as it went. As the light faded, surrendering itself to the taper's rich sheen, his head lowered. Drunk with thoughts, dreams and memories … he had been drunk with the spirit of death. But no more. Nakago now felt himself grinning faintly, and felt war coming, such a war it must be – internal and external at the same time. For these long years he had fought to defy the gods. But they drove him down. They killed him. The old Nakago was dead – a victim of the harsh forces that had destroyed the village, and the Hin; destroyed his mother. He had occupied this empty shell of a body for these long years, waiting for a mere assumption. Waiting for the Miko. He had even feared to live, feared to love … the dead are not capable of such things. That was the way it had always been. Yet, he felt something like birth. Strange; he can feel it stirring inside him, as if it had been hidden at the far corner of his soul, upon that very spot where he had not bothered to look. It was as if it had always been there, that he had ignored totally. A strange birth it was ; one that arose from the gloom of death. What would the gods who brought his demise long ago say to this? What have they to say? As he listened to the limitless skies, as he listened and waited and called, he heard nothing. They were silent. It was his own now. _He _had created his own birth then and there, as he stood before the face of opportunity.

The guard outside began to whistle softly in an attempt to ward off the sudden chill. The sound of rain upon the roof still pattered steadily. His friend stood a few feet away; the maid a few feet further; still reluctant to leave despite the Shogun's orders. The whistling guard paused as the maid uneasily scanned the faint city lights struggling against the wet mist before them. Noticing that they were watching her, admiring the shape of her body, she blushed and turned to leave; only to be caught again by a haggard figure appearing all of a sudden, that dragged its feet like a wounded brute. A small scream escaped her lips as the figure collapsed in front of her, but her voice was drowned under the monotonous rumble of the erupting sky.

Within moments, the two guards were helping a very battered and weary-looking Soi to her feet and propped her limp body against the wall. Her long red hair was all loose and tangled, dripping with untidy rain. She was drenched to the skin, her weary, dull-blue eyes flickering. Behind her was a trail of muddy footprints. She was violently struggling to keep herself from passing out. The panic-stricken maid noticed a distinct change in Soi's torso from what she had noticed in the past days.

"Nakago," Soi whispered weakly, refusing help as she staggered to stand back up. "I must see … Nakago.."

"The Shogun gave us an order not to disturb him," said one of the guards. Soi stared. Her sharp eyes were weary, unsteady. Her meager body was shivering profusely. She had the distinct impression of suffering all about her - a long, laborious suffering of pain that the young maid understood at once.

"You must rest, my lady," she cried. "Let me assist you to your quarters. You must be in a lot of pain-"

"What do _you_ know of pain?" came a stern reprimand from the female Seishi that froze the girl in mid-speech. Frustrated, Soi got back to her feet, pushing them aside. A flash of lighting at that moment illuminated her beautiful, sharp profile for a mere instant before vanishing back into the darkness of the sky's overflowing womb.

"Please, my lady," insisted the maid, "you must rest."

"I will not, I will not rest, thank you," replied Soi, getting more and more stern in tone before shifting to a broken, desperate cry, probably intended only to herself as she fought them off. "Has _he_ realized what I have been through...? But he would not care. He never cared … I can't bear to see him now, not when _I_ have lost his…"

They failed to hear the rest. Thunder drowned it again.

Soi leaned upon the balcony's railing, gaping out her head, allowing the freshness of the downpour to rinse it of the dirt and sand. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to smoothen it as if she was immersed in her bath. Her back was to them.

Her long, white fingers came out gently as they scraped the door's smooth surface. She felt her onlookers backing away slightly as she pushed it open. The rich sheen of candle light deepened the complexion of her face as she stopped and stared inside from the small crack of opening she made. She stood mute, her empty womb silently throbbing within her weakened body at the sight she saw. She saw him, and he was preoccupied. He did not see her. He was busy with speech. There was something, like an inconceivable glitter upon Nakago's eyes as he spoke that Soi could not apprehend. Without a word, Soi gently pulled the door back and the yellow gleam faded back in.

"I'll fetch you a fresh cloak, my lady,"

The look on Soi's face provoked the maid to linger awhile as the eyes of the female Seishi fell upon her.

"Are you one of the Emperor's handmaidens, maid?"

"No, my Lady. I work for His Highness's ladies."

"Have you sometimes dreamed of leaving?" Soi asked thoughtfully.

"No, no, my Lady!" cried the maid in surprise, now that the conversational had become personal. "H-How could I? I'm a slave. I have a lifelong bond.."

Soi continued to gaze thoughtfully, long after the girl had gone. Her labour pains had greatly weakened her, realizing that as she unknowingly ran her pale hands upon her empty belly. There had indeed been a birth that night, a birth that she had been dying to confide with Nakago. It was … his child too, after all – a hard fruit born out of her love for him. A one-sided love it was. She had felt in silent pain for days the fetus stirring inside her womb that brought more pain … pain that Nakago was not bothered with at all. Perhaps he knew, perhaps not. Even if he did know that Soi was carrying _his _child, he ignored it. Shamed, and hurt, she had kept it from him as an act of retaliation. She thought it would not matter, because there was no need for a child with war coming. There was no need, nor time; to be a mother. She was a soldier, a Seishi; not a mother, just as Nakago had been a Shogun, not a father. She was a lover … not a wife.

Yet, losing it made all the difference in the world. To let it go, to accept that it was gone; was the hardest thing she had ever made, because it was _his_ child.

It did not matter anymore. That was what she was trying to convince herself with. The child was in good hands now. There was no need to bring it here, to her world. The birth had been painful – the pain she felt inside being the worst of all. Whatever it was that came out of it was a pure fruit of pain.

Soi breathed deeply as the maid wrapped the cloak around her. Its warmth only mocked her and her white, wet skin. The wind and rain splashed upon them again so fiercely that they had to back away again. The maid offered to escort her indoors, but Soi stood where she was, watching, as the puddles washed away her muddy footprints.

End of Part One 


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